


We Are Stained Crimson Souls

by goldkirk



Series: LeviHan Week 2014 [6]
Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-10
Updated: 2014-11-10
Packaged: 2018-02-24 19:38:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,185
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2593835
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goldkirk/pseuds/goldkirk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There is red from the time they are children, blood soaking their lives as they wind throughout the years, and red is what binds them together as they go through life. (My contribution to LeviHan Week, Day 7: Red. Final installment of my LeviHan Week series.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	We Are Stained Crimson Souls

Red drips slowly down his arm as he huddles against the filthy wall in the Underground, fresh out of his first knife fight and—surprisingly—the victor over someone nearly twice his size. He is a tiny figure curled up in the alley all alone, and as the blood rolls hot down his dirty skin he watches without feeling and wonders whether normal people have to fight with knives when they're only eight years old and all alone in the world. He doesn't know. He doesn't care. It doesn't really matter anyway. 

The child stands up and walks out of the alleyway, firmly ignoring the skin that is now stained crimson-brown, straightening his small shoulders as a challenge for anyone who dares to threaten him.

The cut heals into a ragged scar: not his first, but the first one he can be proud of. Levi Ackerman is eight years old and has his first battle scar. It will stay with him for the rest of his life.

* * *

 

She feels the red drops on the sensitive skin of her neck as she tries not to twitch against the sharp blade pressed hard into her throat. She is nine years old and she should never have been allowed to walk home alone after the bullying began to escalate. She was going to die here, now, without anyone to even witness the final moments of a child that is just not ordinary or simple enough for her peers to accept her.

The knife begins to press harder, and suddenly she rebels. She refuses to die here in such a pointless way. There is so much more to do, so much more time she needs to spend learning and exploring and testing and living. Her previous paralysis vanishes and her arm comes up to rip away the knife and her knee comes up to slam into the other child's side and then she's up and running, running, running to the safety of home.

Hange is nine years old and doesn't care that her blood is now dripping down the front of her neck, staining her clothes in a way that will never really come out. There are more important things to think about.

* * *

 

He is a teenager and the blood rolls down his cheek from the fight he just had over two rolls. He wipes it away absentmindedly as he hands the rolls to the two starving kids he found the other day. They don't thank him but the tears in the girl's eyes are enough and he walks away in silence. The rolls may have been enough to help them last long enough to get to the next meal, and then the next, and so eventually reach adulthood in this hell of a world they live in, or they may have only keep them alive one more day and just prolong the inevitable misery of death. He doesn't know.

Levi never looks back.

* * *

 

She hastily wraps the hodge-podge bandage strips around her gashed forearm, not worrying too much about the blood already seeping through. She can take care of it later. Right now, it's more important that she figure out just what substance is hard enough for her scalpel to bounce off so casually without leaving a scratch. Hange doesn't notice until the next day that there had been enough blood for it to drip off the bandages and stain the floor of her bedroom. 

Hange shrugs and supposes that's what bleach is for.

* * *

 

The horses are stabled and the members of the Survey Corps—what's left of them, anyway, are back in the barracks. Levi strips out of his gear and harness straps, yanking his battered shirt off with them. His well-muscled torso and arms are covered in a road map of old scars, blooming bruises, and numerous fresh cuts oozing hot, thick blood. He frowns at his reflection in the mirror before storming into the the bath where he will proceed to rub his already-abused skin raw five times over just trying to get rid of the memories of all the titan saliva and the dirt and the sweat and more dead soldiers' blood from off of his skin. 

* * *

 

She dumps the satchel of plant, dirt, and water samples on a table in her lab and then heads back to her own room in brooding silence. There were too many losses. There were always too many losses. No real gains, no captive titans, numerous lives lost, and she can’t remember why this could possibly be worth it. She will remember again in the morning, she knows, but for now she lets herself feel the full effects of the horror and as she sinks down into the tub her bathwater turns red with the blood of her own wounds and from the now-dried blood of too many dead comrades.

 

* * *

 

He meets her in her room after they’ve both washed and scrubbed as much as their exhausted bodies can take (and definitely more than is healthy but they’re far beyond caring). In silence they take care of each other’s injuries and then lay down together, sharing the warmth and reassurance of life between them.

They wake up in the morning with no more red, only brown, and minds once more fortified against the harsh lives they have both chosen to leave. They can only afford one night of grief, one night of red. After that, there are duties to be filled.

* * *

 

Red flashes before their eyes with every titan they kill.

Red soaks the fabric of their clothes again and again and again.

Red stains the wrappings of so many dead soldiers.

Red covers the ground after the battle.

Red stains the streets, stains the walls, stains homes and carts and every single part of their world, and they are so tired of all the red.

Just when they want to lie down and give up, it's finally over—and there's more red. 

They won the war. But the cost was high.

* * *

 

The surviving members of the Survey Corps are all present. The Commander, missing his arm but still able to perform the ceremony, stands at the head of the room, Levi next to him. Older, more worn, but still strong and his eyes ablaze with a subtle fire.

Through the open door Hange walks through the room to stand at his side, clad in dress uniform like him. No dress for her. It just wouldn't be right, they decided. They would do it in their uniforms or not at all.

Their vows are quick, but not any less meaningful because of it.

When they kiss, their cheeks flare red with a flood of emotions. There has been too much red in their lives already—enough for a thousand lifetimes of horror and bad memories. But this is a new kind of red they see as their friends cheer behind them and Erwin tries (and fails) to conceal his teary eyes. 

This time, red doesn't mean pain. Red means love. Red means victory. Red means life.

This is a red, they think, that they could get used to.


End file.
